Corona Radiata

OF KINGS AND KNIGHTS AND CAVALIERS CORONA – “Garland worn on the head as a mark of honor or emblem of majesty, halo around a celestial body. Informal: CORONAVIRUS.” Merriam-Webster Ultimately, it was the “crown” they were in pursuit of, known to hold universal knowledge and the secret of eternal life: They would search – those timorous, the warrior, and the virtuous. There were others seeking this prized garland, all of whom were holding an innocent, platonic likeness, but they were imposters, and they were adversaries determined to become victors over the disdained humankind they competed against. Davin Alastair’s large, tapered hands nearly concealed the parchment holding multiple leaves – of judgment, blessing, and scrolls of war, as well as the significance of King Yeshua’s crown and location of His kingdom. These, handed down to Dr. Reade Sinclair from his father’s father, hidden carefully away, protected for many generations before, held for this time to be opened, and saved for a Son of Light to decipher, old Doc Reade had relinquished the many centuries of watchful duty by handing the parchment over to the one who was destined to interpret it, a Son of Light, Davin Alastair. Davin paused, considering the contents with respect; an apprehensive prayer passed his lips: My allegiance is to the Crown. Davin’s regard was of faith in the King who wore that crown, not to that item which the King was crowned with. It was a world society, characterized by its superstition and inventive drives, so they relied on paraphernalia – from modern apparel and equipment to holy relics, such as vestures – scepters and crowns. The backroom of his bookshop was a place quite familiar, where Davin continued to engage in services his family had offered for decades, that of book binding and repairing damaged manuscripts. He knew how one must treat a document of age, having observed his grandfather in his strict approach; Davin used the inherited gloves, ones that had handled many leaves from old books. He placed the scroll of parchment on the prepared surface of the work counter. Even before unrolling it for examination, he knew only someone who had the proper training and knowledge of paleography could date it and determine the writing system. But there was no such professional residing in New City; besides, he could not entrust this into anyone’s care. It wasn’t from the current century or the last; it was perhaps older than medieval. Where had it been housed? In synagogue or church? Was it work of a scribe hidden in a monastery, a university student’s work of inspired scriptures? It was the WORD of the scroll that he wished to assiduously pour over. Still, he had to be careful no damage would be caused by handling the prophetic reading. He had to maintain watch, as his predecessors had. What the study would reveal was meant for all Sons of Light, for it would prepare and enlighten each one of them. These were God’s revolutionaries, and they had a calling, from the beginning of time, miraculously established. The Sons of Light waited now for knowledge of a universal event they would be ushering in with the guidance of the Crown, the true King in exile. They were to extol the greatness of King Yeshua’s Kingship, but first they would be involved in the last bitter war to defeat The Sons of Darkness. The ancient War Scroll was of the finest vellum Davin had ever seen – a skin parchment, made from a spotless lamb. As he unfolded the scroll he counted several layers, each, with writing from the Latin family of languages, composing an allusion from his own homeland of the Latium Province. “Take a magnetic and a lenticular compass to translate,” Doc Reade had said in preparing him to comprehend the obscure text. “You will be traveling our convex World on double levels, for it’s of infantry and angels,” he added. There, alone in his bookshop, Davin Alastair – confirmed as a Son of Light, reflected and anticipated. And unbeknownst to him – he opened the seal of two dimensional doors, for it told of Sons of Light (filii lucis) and those (lucis vacui) void of light, (et factum est bellum in caelo) and there was a war in Heaven, (et erit bellum in terra) and there will be a war on Earth. He proceeded to read of King Yeshua’s authority, granting powers, a commission entrusting His Sons of Light to perform in future events. It was written that a universal war had been and would be. (Ut semper vestibulum erat.) That he was at the threshold of time and times, he was just beginning to perceive, when… The lights went out. A vapor seeping from under the door separating the workroom from the bookshop caused him to think of the damp fog he walked through that morning from the island to New City, coming up from the dark swampland, pouring over the trail. He placed the scroll in the safe and removed his gloves; then he took a step to the shop door; his skin felt warm, the steamy air he breathed was smoky. Perspiration gathered on his forehead. He had such a thirst. He recalled the fresh spring of water that morning in the glade, where the forest parted just enough for him to see that the glistening stars were still out; he had stooped to gather water in his hands to refresh his face. While he knelt, he prayed: I wish to be obedient to the Crown, to withstand the feral. Through fury of the villainous, may I be worthy. Things in the bushes began moving about then, but what alerted him was the guttural sound of an animal, a boar, ready to charge. Davin acknowledged the strength of The Leonine Spirit within him; murmurings of wind were carried through the trees, just when a wild turkey whisked over Davin’s head like a flying wedge, and the boar chased after its prey. Now alert, Davin bent slightly over to hear sounds rumbling from beneath him; the old boiler in the cellar was acting up. He recognized the voices of neighbors who shared the building basement and he heard sounds of tools. But he also heard a harsh wind rattling windows and walls. He hated to be interrupted now; he didn’t have much time before he’d have customers. He gazed back at the work counter; deciding to at least find out what the problem was below, he opened the door – to a thick, foggy cloud that gagged and blinded. There, rising out of a heavy mist swirled drab colors forming images. Approaching figures of silent people, barely visible, had painfully wandered from the mall; like a nomadic tribe seeking rest and escape, through heavy, unbreathable air, they were entering Davin’s store. Somewhere in the vicinity was a fire, and smoke had billowed through the seams of the city. Davin, at closer scrutiny, thought these people appeared to be knights in shiny armor; but steady beams of unnatural light coming from the mall, passing through the open door and large storefront windows gleamed upon torturous metal masks pressed hard upon faces preventing a breath of health and, in some, life. Other figures had iron cages encased on their heads, locked in position so that they could only stare forward. Some had their ears cut off. A few had crowns of iron spokes encircling their heads. “When will we be avenged?” they asked in unison. Davin’s heart pounded, visibly shaken. “In Lord Yeshua’s name, may I have wisdom,” Davin cried out. Then he replied, “The hour of YHWH’s judgement approaches.” Recalling the Lion’s face on his grandfather’s book cover, he stated firmly, “Weep not: behold, the Lion…” From a book entitled Revelation, the fifth verse of chapter five, his grandfather had the habit of quoting this when Davin had experienced disappointment or pain. Davin’s eyes looked up just as the figures ascended, as if quickly taken in a haboob of a dust storm; in that dark wall of a Sudanese wind they disappeared. Clanging noises from below stopped, and power returned – as if nothing had occurred. Though a short interruption, resuming work was impossible; evidence of what he had just experienced